


The Emperor's Shadow

by Nuanta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Brief/Light Fantasy Violence, Detective Ferdinand, M/M, Masquerade, Phantom Thief AU, Phantom Thief Hubert, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: The faint static of recently used magic lingers in the air as his pegasus makes landing, but there’s no sign of that dark figure, nor the shining crown. Ferdinand swivels his head, but he finds no obvious signals in the dark as to which direction the man might have warped to next.“Blast,” he mutters as he dismounts. Something crinkles under his boot, and he steps back to find a small card.A thrill laces his blood at the sight as he bends down to pick it up. It’s the same calling card the thief left the last time, featuring the same mystery sigil that Linhardt couldn’t identify on the face, confirming his suspicions.He flips the card to the other side, and is startled to find writing, in big, loopy cursive:29 Verdant Moon, Arundel Estate
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, background Doropetra - Relationship
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89
Collections: Ferdibert Week 2020





	The Emperor's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution to Ferdibert week! For the day 2 prompt: secret. As in, secret identity, hee hee. 
> 
> This story has actually been complete for 5 months. It was part of a project among a small group of writers in which we were all given the exact same prompt (phantom thief AU) and basic plot structure to follow, with the goal of seeing all the different spins we would take on the story. In the end, the project fell through, but myself and the wonderful [gim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gim/pseuds/gim) still finished ours and decided to post them today! See the end notes for more about her version of this story.
> 
> Quick note regarding the fantasy violence tag: I promise no pegasi were harmed in the writing of this fic. Enjoy!

Ferdinand is already too late when he arrives at the Enbarr National Bank. He flies up the stone steps atop Winona’s back and practically leaps off before she even touches down on the landing. Her wings furl in and she dutifully maintains her position as Ferdinand rushes inside.

Bodies lie sprawled across the floor, against desks and chairs, and the sheer number of them is enough to give Ferdinand pause for but a moment, until he remembers that medics have been dispatched and will be here any moment. There doesn’t appear to be any blood staining the marble floors, so that ought to count for something, but best leave this to the professionals.

Ferdinand is a professional himself, but of a slightly different variety. And that line of work leads him to pinpointing one of the open doors at the back of the room that’s usually closed, and running along through into the vaults.

The corridors are dim—someone must have fiddled with the lights—but the emergency lights are just enough to guide his path through the twisted maze that contains the bank’s most treasured stores. Ferdinand briefly attempts to conjure up a light spell, the only bit of magic he’s ever been able to learn, but the spell fizzes.

So the anti-magic field within the high-security vaults is still intact, at the very least. Hopefully that’s bought Ferdinand enough time to catch up to his mystery thief.

It’s the same one from last week—it has to be. He’s got a hunch about this one, deep in his bones, and his gut has yet to lead him astray. Last week, a priceless painting of the ancient Adrestian Empire had been stolen from the Modern Adrestian Museum of Arts. Ferdinand was only put on the case during the aftermath, so he hadn’t yet achieved a visual of his target, save for a few descriptions of a figure dressed in black. Not at all helpful.

What _was_ helpful was that the poor innocents who had gotten mixed up in the thievery at the museum were left unharmed, save for a minor bruise or scrape after having crumpled to the ground following the effects of a sleep spell. Ferdinand hadn’t had time to look closely at the tellers in the bank’s main entrance, but he highly suspected a similar play here.

Only one way to know for sure.

He weaves his way through the maze of darkened corridors, grateful that his path is made clear to him by the doors standing ajar and unlocked. Evidently, this thief is not concerned with covering his trail. Afflicted with overconfidence, perhaps. Ferdinand will have to use that to his advantage.

Eventually, he reaches a fork: two doors open. One of them appears to lead to a brighter room than the other. He pokes his head inside and finds a room full of sigil work—the anti-magic field. Presumably, the thief had made a failed attempt at disabling it before giving up and moving on with their dastardly plans. That means Ferdinand does not have time to dawdle here, either. He races back through to the other opening and continues down a new hall.

When he finally bursts through the doorway of the intended vault, he draws up short, the sight before him nothing like he would have anticipated. The vault is mostly empty, save for a marble pillar in the center of the chamber. And squatting atop the pillar is a figure dressed all in black, wearing a glimmering, jeweled crown over their dark hair.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” the thief says in a low, gravelly voice. Definitely male. He wears a black mask that blocks most of his face, save for his jaw, and Ferdinand can see a devilish grin.

Not overconfidence, Ferdinand realizes with a jolt. This is intentional.

“Hand back the crown now, you crook,” Ferdinand orders, “and maybe your punishment won’t be so severe.”

The thief lifts the crown from his head and examines it almost thoughtfully, fingers dancing across the ornate gems and engravings. “Dear detective, I am not committing a robbery if I am simply returning the crown to where it belongs,” he simpers.

Ferdinand glares. “It belongs here, in this vault,” he snaps, drawing his sword from his belt and pointing the tip at the thief. “I respect that you have kept the innocent out of this, but I cannot simply let you get away with your crimes. This is your last chance to surrender before I take you down.”

The thief’s grin only widens as he places the crown back upon his head. “I’d like to see you try.”

Then, before Ferdinand even has the time to blink, there is a vivid flash, a purple crackle of energy and magic within the room, and then the thief is gone, the crown with him.

Unfeasible as it should be, that hum of magic is undeniable—a warping spell.

Ferdinand tries once more to cast a light spell, and this time it works. The moment he steps out of the vault, however, it dissipates once more.

There’s no time. Instinct kicks Ferdinand’s legs into motion, sprinting him back down the dark corridors. He needs to get out of here, he needs to alert more authorities. This is no ordinary thief they’re dealing with. Somehow, this villain managed to alter the sigil work just enough to disarm the anti-magic field in one area only of the vaults. This is so far out of Ferdinand’s expertise—he will need to call in Linhardt, probably, to come investigate. But what Ferdinand does know right this instant is the limitations of a warp spell, its range, and enough of the general layout of the bank to know that warping laterally would be impossible to escape the rest of the field. As far as Ferdinand knows, underground is not an option either.

The only place to go is up.

Ferdinand crosses the threshold into the main open chamber of the bank, and yells, “He’s tampered with the anti-magic field! I’m going to the roof!” before whistling for Winona.

Sure enough, she swoops into the building to fetch him. He swings effortlessly into the saddle and she takes him back out the doors and up into the night sky, straight for the roof.

The thief is not there.

The faint static of recently used magic lingers in the air as his pegasus makes landing, but there’s no sign of that dark figure, nor the shining crown. Ferdinand swivels his head, but he finds no obvious signals in the dark as to which direction the man might have warped to next.

“Blast,” he mutters as he dismounts. Something crinkles under his boot, and he steps back to find a small card.

A thrill laces his blood at the sight as he bends down to pick it up. It’s the same calling card the thief left the last time, featuring the same mystery sigil that Linhardt couldn’t identify on the face, confirming his suspicions.

He flips the card to the other side, and is startled to find writing, in big, loopy cursive:

_29 Verdant Moon, Arundel Estate_

~o~

Ferdinand is about to dial Dorothea when Linhardt strolls into his office and promptly drops into a chair. He leans over his desk immediately. “Well?” he asks. “Did you find it?”

Linhardt rubs his eyes. “I didn’t,” he drawls. “I had to call in a favor instead.”

When he doesn’t expound, Ferdinand quirks an eyebrow. “And?”

“I called Hanneman.” Linhardt’s words catch in a long yawn. “He identified it as the crest of Flames, a crest that’s been lost to time for hundreds of years. It’s a crest that died out with Nemesis.”

Ferdinand knows the stories—his life, before becoming a detective, had been filled with history books and field trips to the opera house for countless musical interpretations of such historical events. He still partakes in those pleasures from time to time, work permitting.

“Is he trying to be cheeky?” Ferdinand mused. “Clearly, this is a man who is very skilled with magic and sigil work. Using that kind of symbol to identify himself with is certainly some sort of play.” He huffs out a sigh of frustration. “Damn him and his ego!”

Linhardt waves a hand haphazardly, his eyes drifting shut. Ferdinand inhales deeply, holds, exhales. He does not wish to ever become as lackadaisical as Linhardt, but the reminder to take it easy sometimes is quite welcome.

Also, sometimes working in the presence of a good friend, even a sleeping one at that, makes him feel a little more productive.

He picks up the phone and makes his call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Thea, it’s Ferdinand.”

The tone goes from smooth to ecstatic in an instant. “Ferdie! So nice of you to call! How have you been?”

“To be quite honest, at the present moment I am quite vexed by my newest case, and I was hoping you could lend me your assistance with a particular matter.”

Dorothea says, light yet severe, “You know I abhor being used as a ploy.”

“I promise it is nothing like that! It will not require any effort on your part at all. I only ask—do you have a date for this weekend’s ball at the Arundel estate?”

Dorothea laughs. “You also know I prefer the company of women.”

“Please, Thea, answer my question.”

He can practically hear her shrug on the other end of the line. “No, I suppose I don’t have anyone I fancy enough to take with me. I’ve been in high demand, you know. Speaking of which, you haven’t come to see me perform in my newest role.”

“A slight that I will remedy posthaste,” Ferdinand promises. “But if you would allow me to accompany you—as a chaperone, of course, I would not dream to claim your romantic affections—I would be most eternally grateful.”

There is a brief pause. “All right,” Dorothea relents. “I suppose I can gift you my extra ticket.”

Ferdinand nearly vibrates out of his seat from excitement. “Thank you so much, Thea! I owe you a fabulous steak dinner at the Butcher of Enbarr.”

“And a few drinks,” Dorothea adds playfully. “Well then, I’ll expect you to pick me up in a horse drawn carriage. Don’t forget to get yourself a nice costume!” And with that, she ends the call.

That’s right—this ball on 29 Verdant Moon is to be a grand masquerade, in celebration of Volkhard von Arundel’s recent appointment at the Prime Minister of Adrestia. On exhibit will be the prestigious Adrestian Ruby, the largest gem of its kind, one that has been passed down for generations across a long line of Prime Ministers. Ferdinand is willing to bet his life that this is what his phantom thief will set his sights on come this night.

He just needs to communicate with the estate’s security detail and warn them of this possibility. Oh, and come up with a suitable costume. Hopefully, that will work in his favor.

~o~

The Prime Minister’s manor is lavish and picturesque, its gardens unparalleled, especially at the height of summer. Even once inside, descending the sweeping carpeted staircase invokes a sense of royalty. All attendees are dressed in the most fabulous suits and gowns, their faces obscured by intricate, glittering masks. They dance and spin across the high-ceilinged ballroom, golden chandeliers sparkling above them, while a small band plays off in one of the corners.

Across from the entrance is another staircase with a midway landing before branching out to either side and swooping out to balconies that overlook the length of the room. Sure enough, in the middle of the landing, there is a glass case sitting on a stand, the Adrestian Ruby on full display, surrounded by half a dozen security guards. Behind the case, a doorway to the rest of the manse, once again locked and guarded.

Ferdinand has heard stories of the Adrestian Ruby, seen paintings of it, but never has he borne witness to it in person, and nothing could have prepared him for the magnificent sight. The Ruby is about the size of a human head, perfectly cut to reflect rays of light at all angles. Its deep color reminds Ferdinand of magnificent, shimmering warmth, and he feels the inexplicable urge to hold it. No wonder his mysterious thief covets it so much.

Lining the balconies and walls of the ballroom are even more security guards. Last Ferdinand had verified with Prime Minister Arundel’s head of security, they had ensured him that the anti-magic field encompassing the interior of the manor would be triple sealed with personal crests. It was still unknown whether the perpetrator had a crest of his own, but even if it were enough to sever one of the seals, it would not suffice to dispel the field. With this, and the largest security detail Ferdinand has witnessed in all his years, he is confident that they have just made things incredibly arduous for a certain individual. He wishes he could say thievery has been rendered unattainable, but something in his gut tells him he will still have his work cut out for him.

His gut has yet to fail him, so Ferdinand resolves to keep his guard up all night.

“Honestly, Ferdie, you can at least give me one dance before you succumb to your work,” Dorothea says, and if it were not for the mask, Ferdinand is positive he would see her raising her eyebrows at him. She is stunning and gorgeous in a gown of shades of red and mauve, her long hair ordained with flowers and a delicate, decorated mask to match.

“Of course.” Ferdinand obliges, reaching for her hand and kissing it as he bows ceremoniously before her. “Very few people will get to confidently say that they danced with the Mittelfrank Opera’s prominent star tonight, so long as that mask is in place. I would shudder to think that I missed such an opportunity for myself.”

“You lay it on so thick,” Dorothea grumbles, but she is smiling, and she allows Ferdinand to collect her into his arms and lead her across the dance floor. Once there, however, they switch holds, and Dorothea leads them through the rest of it.

Dancing with Dorothea is always a wonderful time, even if they both prefer different kinds of partners. They had dated, previously, when Dorothea hadn’t quite yet risen to fame, but they were quick to realize the reasons why they were not appropriate for each other. Nevertheless, they have maintained a close friendship ever since, and for that, Ferdinand is endlessly thankful.

When the dance ends, Dorothea beams up at him. “Drinks?” she asks, and Ferdinand nods. They weave their way through the crowd, reaching a long table propped against a wall and lined with numerous hors d’oeuvres and several generous bowls of punch.

They pour themselves their drinks and clink their glasses together before they tilt their glasses for their first sip, only to be interrupted by an unfamiliar, thickly accented voice.

“Excuse me, but would you be able to be telling me why everyone is banging their glasses together? Wouldn’t that lead to the breaking?”

Ferdinand turns to see a woman in a dress of foreign style, remarkably patterned and multicolored. The woman’s mask hides half her face, revealing painted markings on the lower half. Most impressive, however, is the sheer number of braids her hair is tied in, coiling together into an elaborate ponytail.

Next to him, Ferdinand hears Dorothea’s very soft intake of breath.

He offers the woman his most charming smile. “It’s a custom here, to offer goodwill to the person you are drinking with. It’s very light—we absolutely avoid breaking the glass.”

“I am understanding!” the woman exclaims, rather gleefully. “Thank you very much!”

“You are most welcome!” Now, Ferdinand is sure of the accent. “You are from Brigid, are you not?”

The woman nods. “I am. My name is Petra. I am pleased to be meeting your acquaintance.”

“I am Ferdinand, and the pleasure is all mine,” he replies. He deposits his still-full glass of punch on the table and gestures to Dorothea, giving her a discreet nudge. “And this is my best friend Dorothea. She has always wished to visit Brigid.”

“ _Ferdie_ ,” Dorothea hisses, but Petra is already crowding into her space, grinning with delight.

“You must be visiting! My homeland is filled with beautiful nature. You will not be seeing as many buildings as here.”

Dorothea recovers rapidly, as Ferdinand knew she would. “I bet the air is so much cleaner there,” she says, to Petra’s enthusiastic nod.

Ferdinand clears his throat. “Well, ladies, if I may excuse myself. I am going to search for the restroom. Lovely meeting you, Petra!” And with a cheery wave, he leaves them to it, unable to dampen the grin that spreads across his cheeks the moment he turns away.

He traverses the room towards the staircase, carefully watching the guest and security movements, his eyes constantly drawn back to the Adrestian Ruby. There are no guests that look out of place here; then again, it would be rather silly if the thief did not come dressed for the masquerade. The mystery man undoubtedly must have a great scheme in mind if he has his sights set on the Ruby.

He’s startled from his reverie by a firm grasp on his shoulder. “Excuse me,” a smooth, low voice says, and Ferdinand whirls around to find himself facing a tall man dressed in a black tuxedo, a simple black mask eclipsing his features. The suit is exquisitely form-fitting against the slender individual, and a thrill courses down Ferdinand’s spine at the sight.

“Y-Yes?” Ferdinand says dumbly, all pretense of manners momentarily lost by the fog settling over his brain.

“Forgive me if this is too forward,” the man says, “but I couldn’t help but notice your dancing style earlier. Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask you to join me for a dance?”

Ferdinand blinks as he processes the man’s words. “I would love to take you up on your offer,” he says. “I am Ferdinand.” He holds out a gloved hand.

The man takes it in a gloved hand of his own, black to contrast against Ferdinand’s white. “Enchanted,” he says. “You can call me Hubert.”

Hubert’s arms close around him, and then Ferdinand is being led in a traditional waltz. Hubert leads well, and is clearly graceful and well-practiced. The fact that he’s taller than Ferdinand, unlike Dorothea, with a powerful, commanding grip, sends goosebumps across his flesh.

But alas. Ferdinand has to keep an eye out. He lets himself be guided along, effortlessly matching his partner’s steps, and looks off in the distance, no strange happenings within the security yet.

A gentle tap on the shoulder jolts Ferdinand’s eyes back to Hubert’s. Dazzlingly green, and searching.

Ferdinand blushes, though he hopes the mask conceals some of it. “My apologies,” he says. “It seems my thoughts were elsewhere.”

Hubert’s eyes glint with something teasing, almost…hungry. “I think you will find ample reason to direct your attention towards me,” he murmurs, the rumble turning into a growl by the end of it. Ferdinand’s gut flips, and his grip tightens reflexively.

Hubert’s smile widens, and the hand at Ferdinand’s waist draws him closer, fingers digging into his waist in a deliciously welcome fashion. Goddess, how long has it been since he’d been held by another man?

Their chests now flush together, warmth spreading through him at every point of contact, they spin across the dance floor, and Ferdinand has no hope of looking anywhere else but those entrancing eyes. Maybe he can still accomplish his mission tonight _and_ make a new friend.

Hubert leans over, heated breath puffing against Ferdinand’s ear. His teeth just barely scrape the shell of the ear when he speaks, sending a full-body shudder through him.

“It wasn’t just your dancing I was observing, you know,” he says, holding Ferdinand close. Covetous. “You look simply divine. Ever since I spotted you from across the room, I’ve been plagued with thoughts of how your hair might feel if I ran my fingers through it. Like silk, I’d imagine.”

Ferdinand’s pulse thrums loudly and he thinks his heart might explode out of his ribcage for all its hammering. “I-Is that so?”

“Surely you’ve looked in a mirror before.”

Ferdinand absolutely has. He is quite satisfied with his attire for the evening, his burgundy three-piece suit, the dangling earrings, the gold-lined mask to match—but he has always been most proud of his hair. Tonight, it is braided into a half-ponytail, to keep strands out of his face, laced with a gold and burgundy ribbon. It’s a luxury he cannot usually afford himself, work requiring a certain level of practicality, and tonight, the freedom to indulge is exhilarating.

Especially now that it’s led to this, him dancing with a handsome stranger who is whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Feeling daring, Ferdinand answers, “Maybe once the party’s over I will allow you to feel it for yourself.” It’s now his partner’s turn to shiver, and up close, Ferdinand experiences every delectable inch of it.

“I look forward to it.”

Then the dance draws to an end, and Hubert pulls back. Ferdinand’s heart pounds as he stares back into those eyes—

“And now, introducing Prime Minister Volkhard von Arundel!”

A voice booms across the hall, and Ferdinand whips his head around to where a set of doors from the far balcony have opened and the newly appointed Prime Minister makes his grand entrance to the ball, stepping up to the railing to look down upon his guests and bid them welcome.

Ferdinand doesn’t care much for speeches, especially when there are more pressing matters to handle while most of the guests are distracted. He turns back to his dance partner—only to find that Hubert has vanished. He looks over the heads of the crowd, but there’s no sign of a man dressed in black anywhere.

A chill of foreboding trickles down Ferdinand’s spine just in time for everything to go awry.

A heavy weight bumps into him, and Ferdinand instinctively sidesteps to keep from being jostled, only to watch another man collapse to the floor. All around him, random guests suddenly slump in an apparent faint. One guest, followed several seconds later by another. More time in between, then another. And another.

Panic ensues. Security guards flock over to help, and Ferdinand crouches over the unresponsive man next to him. Checks his pulse, which is totally normal. If Ferdinand didn’t know any better, he’d say the man is just asleep.

He tries to conjure a light spell and fails. If the anti-magic field is still functioning, then…

He stands up and glances around once more. Finds guards lifting the limp bodies of—his stomach clenches—Petra and Dorothea, empty glasses of punch sitting innocently on the table nearby.

His eyes widen with realization. “Slow-acting,” he mutters to himself. He cups his hands over his mouth and bellows, “Sleeping draught in the punch!”

The guards are scattered now. Many have hastily left the hall, escorting Prime Minister Arundel back to his rooms, which means—

And then the lights go out.

Amidst the frightened screams and the chaos of bodies jumbled together, Ferdinand takes off running. The broad, high windows allow just enough moonlight to filter through that he can see vague outlines of those who stand in his way, and he darts through the crowd as he rushes towards the stairs.

Up ahead, he can see a dark figure reach the landing, security guards falling, glass shattering—and then the Adrestian Ruby is in the hands of that bandit, and he’s breaching the doors behind the broken display case, getting away.

Ferdinand cries out, “Halt! Thief!” and continues his chase, jumping over a body that falls in front of him from out of nowhere and stumbling up the steps. Regaining his footing, he scarpers through the doors and follows the robber through the interior of the mansion.

He knows the layout of the estate, thanks to his discussions with Prime Minister Arundel’s head of security. Ferdinand made sure that if the Adrestian Ruby was stolen, he would have every tool possible in his arsenal to retrieve it. Given the anti-magic field in place within these walls, there is only one possible escape route the thief would think to use: the roof.

Another staircase and a left turn later, he’s shouting pardons to a serving maid as he tears through a personal chamber to the balcony. Once out in the open, he whistles for Winona, who he’d stationed nearby for this exact purpose, and begins to scale the walls.

He does not have to get very far on his own before Winona flies up, whinnying to notify him of her presence. He climbs onto her back and steers her to the roof.

Under the light of the moon and the stars in this clear night’s sky, Ferdinand sees the remaining wisps of dark magic fading away from the roof, reappearing in a flash of purple off in the distance, upon another roof.

Ferdinand directs Winona that way, and as they take off in hot pursuit, the dark figure warps again. This time, Ferdinand is ready for it, expects it—he expertly locates the warp spell’s destination and advances. He knows the limited distance of the warp spell, and he knows that it will be difficult to catch up even on pegasus. No, his progress relies more on the fatigue of the spellcaster. There’s no way the thief can warp forever, and Winona can assuredly outmatch him in stamina. Ferdinand just needs to endure long enough to reach that point.

The thief warps from one rooftop to another, avoiding the streets below, which are surprisingly busy still. It’s not so late that most have retired to their homes yet; Ferdinand doesn’t know why this burglar is so dedicated to keeping as few people involved in his crimes as possible, but he can’t help but feel the slightest twinge of gratitude.

Gratitude, for a petty crook? The images of Dorothea and Petra’s unconscious bodies filters into his brain once more, and Ferdinand squeezes his eyes shut and shakes himself over.

Sure enough, the longer they go, the shorter the distance between warps becomes. Winona’s gaining on him now, approaching the current rooftop and closing in, and the thief turns around to face them, the light of the moon illuminating the dark, simple, familiar mask—

“ _Hubert_?” Ferdinand gasps.

And then a bolt of dark magic is surging straight at him.

Winona tries to dodge, but the spell clips one of her wings. Her body seizes under Ferdinand and she tumbles from the sky. With only an instant to react, Ferdinand rolls sideways and off her back, tumbling onto the roof in a somersault to break his fall as Winona slides helplessly down the side of the building.

“What have you done to her?” he roars, terror piercing his chest, the horror of what might have stricken his best friend and accomplice sinking like a stone in the pit of his stomach. The shock that the alluring man he had danced with so eagerly at the ball is none other than this sorry excuse for a human being sets his nerves alight, shame dripping down his back like hot wax.

Hubert—no, the thief—stands over him, observing, with the Adrestian Ruby tucked under one arm, gleaming like nothing could ever taint its glory. “It’s a simple immobilization spell,” he explains calmly. “It’s only temporary. She’ll be fine.”

Even as the relief washes over him, Ferdinand tries not to let it show as he sits up on his knees. “Slow-acting sleeping draught slipped into the punch at the party, then?” he asks, even while his mind spins, trying to remember what he knows of immobilization spells.

“Of course,” the thief responds, sounding oddly pleased. “I must say, Ferdinand, you’ve surprised me—I honestly thought it would get to you.” Ferdinand suddenly feels extremely fortunate that he had completely forgotten to drink his punch upon Petra’s arrival.

“Yes, well, you’ll find that I am not so easily disposed of.”

He receives a wide smile at that, the very same one he’d seen while they danced, before Hubert’s fingers—

“I am so very happy to hear that.”

Ferdinand shakes his head vigorously. If this dastardly man is humoring him, he might as well aim to extract as much information as possible. “Why are you stealing the Adrestian Ruby? What are you trying to accomplish here?”

The man chuckles. “Come now, Ferdie, surely such a cunning detective such as yourself has figured it out by now.”

Ferdinand bristles. “Do not call me that,” he seethes. “You do not have the right.”

The thief raises a hand in surrender. “My apologies.”

“If you are truly so sorry, then answer my question.”

“Oh, I _like_ you,” the man says, and Ferdinand hates how that possessive tone sends goosebumps prickling his neck and arms. “Very well, then. As with the crown last week, and the painting before that, I am merely returning the Ruby to its rightful owner.”

Ferdinand frowns. “It belongs to the Prime Minister,” he says. “Its ownership is always attributed to the current Prime Minister.”

An admonishing tutting noise. “Then it has been in the wrong hands for far too long. Its true hereditary owner is the emperor.”

Now that doesn’t make a lick of sense. “Adrestia has not had an emperor in years,” Ferdinand argues. “Not since the insurrection. The imperial line no longer exists.”

This time, the grin bestowed upon him reads like a challenge, causing the hairs at the back of his neck to stand at attention.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to do some more of that sleuthing you pride yourself on.”

There’s a startling, unmistakable whinny from below. Ferdinand leaps to his feet as Winona flies up to meet him once more, the spell having worn off at last. Now it is Ferdinand’s turn to grin, the pride of having bought himself just the time she needed to recuperate surging through him, reenergizing his efforts.

Even through the mask, however, there is no indication of worry from the thief. Instead, he is also grinning.

“Too little, too late, Ferdinand,” he says smoothly. “I must thank you for giving me enough time to regain the use of my warp spell.” He flicks the hand not carrying the Ruby. “I absolutely cannot wait to see you again.”

Ferdinand charges towards him, reaching out to grab his arm, but there’s a fierce crackle of magic as the warp spell takes effect. Up close, Ferdinand is momentarily blinded, and once he’s blinking dark spots out of his vision, Hubert is gone, with no further traces of magic on any of the nearby roofs.

“Damn it!” Ferdinand snarls. Before he can stew on his defeat _again_ , Winona nuzzles his still-outstretched arm, and Ferdinand realizes there is something clutched in his fist.

He slowly uncurls his fingers, a rush of adrenaline spiking through him anew at the familiar sigil on the calling card. Underneath the crest of Flames, in that memorable looping cursive, is a signature:

_The Emperor’s Shadow_

**Author's Note:**

> So I maybe accidentally went hog wild with the worldbuilding and now left this open for so much more plot. Oops? I don't actually intend to continue this, but. The ideas are there.
> 
> Check out gim's amazing version of the phantom thief AU [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788853)! We had not consulted each other AT ALL while writing our fics, and as it turns out, she picked the exact opposite roles from me, which was an absolute and utter delight. 
> 
> Come enjoy all the wonderful ferdibert week content with me on Twitter! [@nuanta_fic](https://twitter.com/nuanta_fic)


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